


The long road home

by Ailendolin



Series: Hearts and Souls [3]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Era, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailendolin/pseuds/Ailendolin
Summary: Race blinked, feeling numb with shock. He barely noticed the tears that welled over. “He’s gone,” he whispered, turning to Crutchie. “He left – because he thinks he’s ruining my relationship with Spot.”Part 3 of the soulmate AU in which Race is Albert's soulmate but Albert isn't Race's. Albert's left and a frantic search begins to find him before it's too late.





	1. Race

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Disney does. I'm just borrowing their characters and don't make any money with this.
> 
> Also, please heed the warnings. There will be graphic descriptions of threats and violence against minors in this installment of the soulmate verse that were previously only alluded to, so please be careful if that's triggering for you.

**The long road home**

**Chapter 1: Race**

When Race woke up the morning after the fight with Spot it took him a moment to realize something was wrong. He was disoriented at first, wondering why he was looking up at wooden boards instead of the familiar ceiling of the Lodging House. Then the events of last night came back and Race groaned. He knew he probably shouldn’t have asked Albert to stay with him. He was essentially seeking comfort in the person Spot considered to be the root of all their problems and just asking for trouble. If Spot ever found out Race sometimes slept with Albert (in the most literal sense of the word) he’d probably throw a fit, and it wouldn’t matter at all how often Race had told him in the past that it meant nothing, that he loved _him_ , not Albert. He’d been sharing a bed with Albert for years, long before Spot was even in the picture. It was something most newsies did, especially in winter when sales were slow and the heating faulty, be they from Manhattan or Brooklyn or the Bronx – so Spot really had no reason to be jealous. It drove Race insane that he knew with unwavering certainty that Spot would get angry about it anyway, knew that if he told him it would only end in more fighting. Bringing up Albert in their conversations usually led to arguments and Race was so tired of it that he loathed talking about Albert with Spot at all. So he rarely did, and he hated it. Albert was his best friend and Race refused to feel ashamed or guilty for needing him sometimes, or for Albert needing him. Spot just sometimes made that really hard.

Last night, Albert had told him that he and Spot could still fix their problems, said it with such conviction Race found himself wanting to believe him but he had his doubts about that. He couldn’t fix that neither he nor Spot were willing to give up their lives for the other and he’d already tried countering Spot’s jealousy with logic. It hadn’t worked. Race didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t give Spot more than he already had. If that wasn’t enough than maybe their relationship was doomed to fail.

The most shocking part about it all was how indifferent Race felt about it. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he could barely imagine a life without Spot. He used to be so ridiculously happy, grinning like a fool and walking with a spring in his step at even the prospect of seeing Spot at the Sheepshead Races. Now, he barely felt anything apart from frustration when he thought about him. He mostly longed for the past, the many good moments they had shared, but he didn’t look forward to the future. Perhaps that meant that there was no future for them at all, that they’d already lost.

A dull sadness spread through Race at the thought. It was nothing compared to the devastating heartbreak he’d witnessed when Albert thought he’d lost Race’s friendship, and guilt pooled in his stomach. Spot deserved more than that. He deserved someone who loved him like Albert loved Race, who would give up everything for him just because it would make him happy. It was obvious Race wasn’t that someone, and the more he thought about that the more he realized that he never would be.

Albert had been right: Race needed to talk to Spot as soon as possible, but not to fix things. There was no way forward for them and there hadn’t been for a while – they just hadn’t realized that, or maybe hadn’t wanted to. They both expected things the other couldn’t give and it was tearing them apart. It was time to cut their losses, and Race would rather do that now and hopefully remain friends with Spot than later when they’d learned to truly hate each other. He knew he was going to hurt Spot with this but in his heart he knew it was the right thing to do. He could only hope Spot would be able to forgive him, in time.

The morning bell rang and a moment later Jack’s voice shouted down from the rooftop for them to wake up and get ready. With a sigh Race rolled over, ready to tell Albert about the decision he’d just made and knowing he wouldn’t like it. To his surprise the space next to him was empty. Race frowned. It wasn’t like Albert to be up before the bell. He was more likely to sleep right through it than be up early. Worry churned in his stomach. Maybe he’d underestimated how his fight with Spot had affected his friend. Maybe Albert had had a sleepless night, tossing and turning, and spent the lonely hours until dawn in the common room so he wouldn’t disturb Race.

It would be such an Albert thing to do that Race couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly as he got up and put his clothes on. After a quick trip to the bathroom he descended the stairs to the common room, expecting to find Albert curled up on one of the couches still fast asleep, but Albert wasn’t there. Uneasily, Race stepped into the room, taking another look around to make sure he hadn’t overlooked him.

“Morning, Race,” Crutchie greeted as he came down the stairs behind him. When Race didn’t reply he asked, “Is everything all right?”

“I … I’m not sure,” Race said, turning around to face Crutchie. “Have you seen Albert?”

Crutchie shook his head. “Not since last night. Didn’t he share his bunk with you?”

“Yeah,” Race said, feeling heat creep up his face and not knowing why. “But he wasn’t there when I woke up. I thought he might be down here but he’s not.”

“Maybe he’s already at the circulation gate?” Crutchie suggested.

Race gave him a look. “ _Albert?_ ”

Crutchie huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right.” His eyes scanned the room just like Race’s had a moment ago. “Hey, what’s that?”

Race whirled around. Crutchie was pointing at the table in the corner. On it laid a piece of paper, white against the dark brown wood. Race went over to pick it up. His heart missed a beat.

“It’s a letter,” he breathed. “From Albert.”

Crutchie stepped up behind him, a comforting presence at Race’s back. “What does it say?” he asked in a subdued voice.

Quietly, Race began to read.

_Dear Tonio,_

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry for so many things I don’t even know where to begin._

_First of all I’m sorry I told you about my heartmark. I never meant to put that kind of pressure on you. You tried so hard to be a good friend, and you were, Tonio, the best. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much it meant to me that you didn’t turn me away that night on the rooftop. I thought I would lose you and I was so terrified that you’d hate me. But you didn’t. I’ll never forget that. I think we became even better friends afterwards, something I hadn’t thought possible, and I would lie if I said that didn’t make me happy._

_But I’m so sorry I didn’t realize sooner what this was doing to your relationship with Spot. I was selfish, so utterly selfish. I should have kept my distance. I shouldn’t have loved you so much. You already have a wonderful person who does. You don’t need me to mess that up. I’m sorry I did that, anyway._

_But there’s still time to fix things and that’s exactly why I have to leave. I need to make this right for you, so you and Spot can finally talk, really talk, and hopefully make up._

_Please don’t be mad at me for doing this. I know you don’t want me to go, and I love you even more for that. But I can no longer stand in the way of your happiness. I can’t be the one who ruins that for you. I hope you’ll understand, one day, and forgive me for saying goodbye like this. You deserve more than a letter and I would give you the moon and the stars if I could, if I thought it was the right thing to do. But it’s not. It’s better if I just take a step back and let you live your life._

_I really hope you and Spot will make things work. Please talk to him._

_Goodbye, Tonio._

_Your best friend, always,_

_Albert_

Race blinked, feeling numb with shock. He barely noticed the tears that welled over. “He’s gone,” he whispered, turning to Crutchie. “He left – because he thinks he’s ruining my relationship with Spot.”

Crutchie swallowed hard. “Did he say where he was going?”

“No,” Race shook his head, scanning the letter again. The words were blurry. “Just that he wants to make things right, whatever that means.”

Crutchie pondered that for a moment. “Maybe he went to see Spot.”

Race’s eyes widened. After what happened yesterday the last thing he wanted was for Spot and Albert to be in the same room together, alone. “No way,” he said.

“Just think about it,” Crutchie insisted. “The last thing Albert wanted was to come between you and Spot and Spot basically told him yesterday that he was destroying your relationship.”

Race winced. “You heard that?”

“I think the whole Lodging House heard that, Race.” Crutchie patted him on the shoulder. The gesture didn’t bring him as much comfort as when Albert did it. “Just put yourself in Albert’s shoes. He always believed your relationship with Spot was a happy one, akin to something out of fairytales. Then he finds out it’s not and gets told it’s his fault. Of course he’d want to fix it. Your happiness means everything to him.”

“I know,” Race whispered in despair. “I really wish it didn’t.” He blinked as more tears threatened to fall. “You really think he went to talk to Spot?” he asked hesitantly.

Crutchie nodded. “I think it’s at least a possibility.”

“All right,” Race said, taking a deep breath in the hopes of calming his frantically beating heart. It didn’t work. “I better head over to Brooklyn, then. Any chance you could cover for me today?” Crutchie shook his head and that hurt. Race had thought he could count on Crutchie. “Okay, night on the street it is, then,” he grumbled.

Crutchie punched him in the arm. “Don’t be daft, Race. I’m going with you to Brooklyn.”

Race stared at him in surprise. “You are?”

“Of course I am,” Crutchie said, rolling his eyes.  Then his face softened. “Albert’s my best friend, too.”

“And here I thought I was your best friend,” Jack suddenly interrupted them, coming down the stairs with a carefree grin on his face.

Crutchie blushed. “You … are something else entirely, Jack Kelly,” he muttered.

Jack, blissfully unaware of Crutchie’s heartmark, brushed the comment off with a chuckle. It was painful and heartbreaking to watch because the longing in Crutchie’s voice and eyes seemed just so obvious to Race. He wondered how Jack couldn’t see that, how Race hadn’t seen the same look on Albert’s face all those years they’d known each other. It seemed impossible, now, not to see the love that was there, but it wasn’t that long ago that Race had been just as clueless as Jack. If Albert hadn’t blurted out his secret in anger on that fateful evening he probably still would be none the wiser.

 _And then Albert wouldn’t have felt the need to run away today_ , a tiny voice whispered in Race’s head. But Albert had and now he was gone and they were running out of time. Carefully, Race folded Albert’s letter and placed it in his pocket. “Let’s go,” he said, turning to Crutchie.

Jack trailed after them as they left the Lodging House. “Fellas, work’s that way,” he said when Race and Crutchie turned to go in the opposite direction of the circulation gate. “What’s going on?”

Impatiently, Race gave him the short version. “Albert’s missing. He left a letter, saying he’s leaving so he’s not standing in the way of my relationship with Spot. Crutchie thinks he might have gone to Brooklyn to make amends or something, so that’s where we’re going. You coming or not?”

“Now, wait a minute,” Jack said, taking hold of Race’s shoulder to stop him from walking away. “What do you mean, Albert’s leaving?”

“Exactly how I said it,” Race said. He began twirling his cigar in his hand nervously. They were losing too much time. “He’s not coming back, not if we don’t find him. And we’re not gonna do that standing in this street, so either you come with us or you don’t, but we’ve gotta go, Jack. Now.”

Jack glanced between him and Crutchie before he finally nodded. “I’ll come with you but I gotta tell the others first so they can keep an eye out for Albert, too. I’ll catch up with you, all right?”

Race nodded. It wasn’t a bad idea to alert their friends of the situation. More eyes on the lookout meant a higher chance of finding Albert. They could use all the help they could get.

They parted ways and as fast as Crutchie’s leg allowed he and Race hurried over to Brooklyn while Jack headed in the opposite direction. A thousand thoughts were running through Race’s head as buildings and people flew past them in a blur. What if Albert hadn’t gone to Spot? What if he had but wasn’t there anymore? What if something had happened to him along the way? What if he was hurt, or worse? What if Race never saw him again?

His eyes began to sting but Race pushed the heels of his hands against them angrily. Crying wouldn’t help him now. All that mattered was finding Albert in the maze of New York, because never seeing Albert again was not an option. Race would find him and if he had to walk up and down every street of this damn city, look in every corner, search behind every crate or turn over every last stone, then so be it. There was no way he was letting Albert walk out of his life, not now, not ever. He would get him back, and after he’d told him how stupid he was and to never scare him like that again he would wrap his arms around him and never let him go.

He would bring Albert home, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! The third installment of the "Of hearts and souls" Ralbert soulmate AU is here! I hope you're as excited as I am! As with the previous two stories "The long road home" will have three chapters told from three different povs. There'll be lots of Ralbert, and also some JackCrutchie content (chapter 2 should make you guys happy ... or maybe not, we'll see *g*). The next chapter should be up next Saturday or Sunday, maybe earlier depending how well editing goes. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's continuing to read this verse! I really hope you enjoy this story as much as the previous ones!


	2. Crutchie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please heed the warnings as mentioned in the first chapter. In this chapter there's explicit swearing as well as graphic descriptions of threats and violence against minors.

**Chapter 2: Crutchie**

When Crutchie woke up with his leg already aching he’d thought he’d take it easy that day: get up without waking Jack, walk to the circulation gate before everyone else so no one would see him limping more than usual and choose a selling spot not too far from the Lodging House so he could go home and rest if he needed to. Instead here he was, hurrying towards Brooklyn with Race and trying his hardest to ignore the pain in his leg and the strain their fast pace put on his other leg and the arm holding the crutch so he wouldn’t slow him down. Crutchie had no doubt Race would leave him behind if he couldn’t keep up – not because Race was cruel but because this was about Albert, and as long as Albert was still missing Crutchie knew Race wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone.

Crutchie couldn’t really blame him for that. He would be panicking, too, if Jack had just vanished without a trace one morning, leaving only a goodbye letter behind. But then again, Jack meant everything to him. Crutchie’s heartmark was proof of that. But Race didn’t have a name written over his heart. He only had a soulmark, prone to change, and the name it spelled was Spot, not Albert. And yet here he was, out of his mind with worry as if he’d just lost the most important thing in his life – which apparently wasn’t Spot, his soulmate. It made Crutchie wonder, just a little, if guilt was the only driving force behind Race’s fear of losing Albert, or if maybe there was something more to it – something that had to do with the Wednesdays he always spent with Albert, the way he looked and smiled at him on those nights, and the fight he had with Spot.

He shot Race a glance. Seeing the frantic, terrified look on his face, the worry for Albert’s safety, Crutchie decided now was not the moment to bring it up. There would be time later to talk about it, after they’d found Albert and convinced him to come back. If they found him, that is. Crutchie really hoped he wasn’t leading Race on a wild goose chase right now and Albert was indeed in Brooklyn. Race would never forgive him if this little detour took them in the wrong direction and cost them precious time.

Halfway to Brooklyn Jack finally caught up with them. “Specs will send someone to find us if Albert’s at the circulation gate or at his usual selling spot,” he told them, gasping for air after running all the way at full speed.

“Thanks,” Race said, shooting him a quick smile that couldn’t hide his inner turmoil.

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way. Race increased his speed when they finally crossed the borders into Brooklyn and Crutchie felt Jack’s concerned eyes on his back. It didn’t surprise him at all that Jack noticed the tight grip he had on his crutch or the way his good leg trembled slightly with each step. He’d never been able to hide from Jack, not when it came to physical pain, at least. Jack had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Crutchie’s leg was acting up. Crutchie sometimes thought that was because as a painter Jack, had an eye for detail and was used to noticing the smallest things and changes around him.

On some days Crutchie really appreciated that, especially when Jack would wordlessly go out of his way to make his life just a little easier and a little bit brighter despite the pain. On other days, though, like today, Jack’s concern was a nuisance. It not only made Crutchie hyperaware of the pain he was in but it also made him feel guilty for worrying Jack. And it made him angry, just a little, because they both knew there was nothing either of them could do about his leg, not really, no matter how much Jack fretted. Crutchie had learned a long time ago that sometimes you just had to grit your teeth and march on because the world didn’t stop for an aching leg. Today was one of those days and no amount of concern on Jack’s part would help, as well-meant as it might be. Right now Crutchie’s leg should be the least of either of their worries. Albert was missing and they needed to find him before it was too late. In that moment Crutchie didn’t care one bit that he would regret walking through half of New York later. His stupid leg would not get in the way of finding his friend.  

Still, he would lie if he said it wasn’t a relief when they finally reached the Brooklyn Lodging House and the running came to an end. With a sigh, Crutchie allowed Jack to help him lower himself down onto the steps while Race frantically knocked against the door. The sound echoed eerily down the street.

“You all right?” Jack asked quietly, motioning at Crutchie’s trembling leg with one of his hands.

Crutchie rolled his eyes and stretched out his leg so it rested against the cobbled street. “I will be in a moment. Don’t worry.”

Jack looked skeptical but then the door behind them opened and they both turned around. Crutchie didn’t know the newsie who was looking down at them but she looked tough and ready for a fight. After giving Race a dirty look she shouted over her shoulder, “Spot! It’s Higgins!”

Race frowned at her. “Oh, it’s back to Higgins now, is it, Scratcher?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Scumbags like you don’t get nicknames here. Be glad I’m not calling you something worse.”

Crutchie exchanged a look with Jack. Word had obviously gotten around about last night’s fight ( _and maybe breakup?_ Crutchie couldn’t help but wonder) and of course the Brooklyn newsies would be taking Spot’s side. Crutchie just hoped things wouldn’t escalate. Race had a tendency to make matters worse instead of backing down, especially when it came to fights he couldn’t win. The last thing they needed right now was getting into a brawl with Brooklyn.

But to Crutchie’s surprise Race rubbed the back of his neck in a mixture of unease and embarrassment and quietly mumbled, “I probably deserve that.”

“Yeah, you do,” Scratcher agreed, but the hard look in her eyes melted just a little. “You’re an idiot, Higgins. You know that, right?”

Race shrugged. “Always have been, always will be.”

Scratcher nodded. “I sure hope that Albert fella is really worth it,” she told him softly before she stepped aside.

Spot appeared next to her in the doorway. He took one look at Jack and Crutchie before he crossed his arms in front of his chest and fixed Race with a stare. “Is this about Albert?”

Surprised, Race nodded. “Yeah, actually.”

“How’d you know?” Crutchie asked.

Spot pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. It looked awfully similar to the letter Albert had written to Race. “We found this earlier,” he said, handing it over without another word.

Race took it with shaking fingers and slowly read the words out loud.

“ _Spot,_

_I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now. I’m sorry you and Race are fighting so much, and that I’m the reason for it. I didn’t know or I would have left sooner. But I want you to know I’m going now. I just hope it’s not too late. You and Race are good for each other. I’ve seen how happy you make him and how much he loves you. I never wanted to come between that._

_I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you but please, Spot, be there for him after I’m gone. He won’t understand why I’m doing this and he will need you. Just, be with him. Love him like he’s the most precious person in the world. He deserves that, and so much more._

_Albert._ ”

Race’s breath hitched when he read Albert’s name and Crutchie pushed himself up with the help of Jack. His leg protested against the movement. He ignored it in favor of putting a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder “It’s all right, Race,” he whispered.

Race shook his head. “It’s really not,” he said, biting his trembling lip. He looked up at Spot. “He’s not here, is he?”

“No, sorry,” Spot said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “No one even saw him. He must have pushed the letter under the door while everyone was still asleep.”

“Any idea where else he could have gone?” Crutchie asked Jack and Race. He might have been right about Albert coming to Brooklyn but beyond that he had no idea where Albert would go in a situation like this. When he’d been upset in the past he’d come to Crutchie and they’d talked, but always at the Lodging House. They didn’t have a special place – an alley, an abandoned building, or a bench in the nearby park – Albert could have gone to in search of comfort and he realized with a start that he didn’t know if Albert had any favorite spots in the city he would seek out to be alone.

“All right, let’s think this through,” Jack said when Race continued to stare at the letter in quiet despair. “Albert said he wanted to leave. That means he’s probably not in any of the usual places like Jacobi’s or his selling spots, but we’ve got eyes on them just in case. Race, are there any places you and Albert like to go to?”

Race was so lost in his thoughts he startled when he heard his name. “What?” he asked. When Jack patiently repeated the question he said, “There’s the park … we always spent our friendship anniversaries there. Well, except the last one,” his voice broke on the last word but he visibly pulled himself together. “He wouldn’t go there, though. He doesn’t want to be found, Jack.”

A thought occurred to Crutchie and he didn’t like it one bit. “What if he left town?”

Race froze, a look of absolute horror on his face, until Jack asked in a calm voice, “Does he even have enough money for a train ticket? Those aren’t cheap. Trust me, I know,” he added wryly. It was true, train tickets were expensive and more than once Crutchie had silently thanked the stars for that.

“He doesn’t,” Race breathed out softly, briefly closing his eyes in relief. “He just bought himself new boots ‘cause his old ones were falling apart. It cost him almost all of his savings. There’s no way he’s got enough left for a train ticket.”

“All right, so we know he’s most likely still in New York,” Jack concluded. “There must be some place he could have gone to.”

“Does he have family?” All their heads turned towards Spot. He raised an eyebrow, silently daring them to say something. “What? It’s a legit question. He could have gone to them.”

Race smiled at him but it was a sad smile – a smile of someone who was mourning the loss of something beautiful. “It _is_ a legit question,” he agreed softly. “Albert’s got two brothers but they both moved to Boston a year or two ago. His father still lives in the city, though, as far as I know. But Albert would never go to him. He’s terrified of that place.”

Crutchie hadn’t known that and it made him wonder what else he didn’t know about Albert’s life even though they’ve been close friends since Crutchie found out about his heartmark. It hurt, just a little, to realize how little he knew his friend after all.

“Maybe that’s exactly why he would go there,” Spot suggested with a shrug. “It’s the last place you’d look for him.”

It made sense, in a horrible way. They’d already determined that Albert wouldn’t go anywhere obvious. That only left the places he would normally never seek out. “Spot might be onto something there. We should check it out.”

Race didn’t look happy about it. “He can’t have gone back there,” he said desperately and the fear in his voice made Crutchie shiver. “His father’s a bad person. Like, real bad.”

“Wasn’t he a drunkard?” Jack asked, trying to remember what he knew about Albert’s home life.

Race scowled. “A drunken bastard is what he is. Remember all those bruises and black eyes Albert used to sport when he started selling with us? Before he spent the nights at the Lodging House? It sure wasn’t the Delanceys who soaked him back then.”

“I … I didn’t know,” Jack said, looking stricken. Crutchie sympathized with him. He felt sick himself at the thought of Albert being hurt by his own family.

“No one did,” Race said. “And I only found out by accident and he made me promise not to tell. Albert’s real good at keeping secrets, you know?” He sighed, taking his cap off and raking a hand through his unruly curls. “I don’t want him back there,” he whispered. “I don’t want him to get hurt again.”

“Then we better go,” Spot said, to all their surprise.

“Spot?” Scratcher stepped in, hesitating. “You sure?”

Spot nodded but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes never left Race’s when he said, “We’re a union and we look out for each other. If Albert’s father really is as bad as Race says these guys could use some muscle. I’m leaving you in charge, Scratcher. Make sure the fellas get to the circulation gate. It’s already late.”

For a moment Scratcher looked like she wanted to argue. Then she sighed, shook her head and turned around, yelling for the Brooklyn newsies to get a move on.

“Thank you,” Race breathed.

Spot ducked his head and walked past him down the steps. Crutchie and Jack shared a look, then shrugged and walked after him. Race hurried to catch up. “Why are you doing this?” he asked Spot.

“He asked me to be there for you, didn’t he?” Spot said without breaking his stride, glancing at the letter Race was still clutching tightly in his hand. “Right now that means making sure your idiot friend is not in trouble.”

Race shook his head. “You … you shouldn’t do that. You really shouldn’t. I wanted to break up with you this morning,” he blurted out.

Crutchie barely managed not to wince. He really didn’t want to be here for this. Judging from the pained expression on Jack’s face, he didn’t either. Even though they let themselves fall back a little they were still close enough to hear Spot say, “Okay.”

Crutchie missed a step and would have stumbled over his crutch had Jack not grabbed his arm. Race didn’t fare much better. “Okay? Really? Are you telling me that after weeks of fighting about every little thing this is what we finally agree on? Breaking up?” He sounded a little hysterical.

Spot shrugged but Crutchie caught the soft, sad look he shot Race. “I did some thinking last night,” he began. “I was so angry when I got home. I was _hurt_ ,” he admitted. “I saw your fading soulmark, Race, and we both know what it means when a name turns grey.”

“It’s not that I don’t love you anymore,” Race said at once; Crutchie didn’t know whether to defend or explain himself. “Because I do! And I don’t regret a moment we spent together. It’s just … I think we’ve changed, Spot. Both of us. And maybe that’s partly Albert’s fault, I don’t know, but the fact is we need things from each other we can’t give. It’s why we’re always fighting and why my mark is fading: we’re no longer good for each other. We don’t fit together anymore, not like before.”

He looked defeated when Spot simply nodded. “Yeah, I came to the same conclusion when I saw my mark was gone.”

“Gone?” Race repeated faintly.

“Yeah,” Spot sighed. “I checked, yesterday after I got home. There’s not even a trace of your name left. It must have been fading for a while and I … I didn’t notice.” Self-consciously, he rubbed the skin behind his ear.

Race’s eyes followed his movement with an unreadable expression. “Does it make me sound like an asshole when I say I’m kind of relieved to hear that?”

Spot snorted. “Yeah, but what else is new?” He bumped his shoulder against Race’s and they shared a quick, awkward grin.

“How the hell are they not fighting?” Jack whispered to Crutchie, staring at their friends in complete confusion.

Crutchie shook his head. “I have no idea. Just be glad they aren’t.”

Spot glared at them over his shoulder before he turned back to Race. “Look, I was out of line yesterday and I’m sorry for that. We’ve been drifting apart for a while now and I guess I didn’t want to see it. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you – or on Albert, for that matter.” He paused, making sure to catch Race’s eyes. “I’m also sorry I kind of said you were cheating. I know you’d never do that.”

“It’s all right,” Race said. “We’ve both said things we didn’t really mean.” He stopped Spot with a hand on his arm. “Do you think we could still be friends?” he asked, sounding unsure. “Someday, maybe?”

Spot smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

They went back to Manhattan. Race led them through streets and alleys Crutchie had never been to until they finally reached an old brick building that looked run-down and anything but inviting. Steep stairs were leading up to a grayish front door.

“Albert used to live here?” Crutchie asked, leaning heavily against his crutch to keep his weight off his bad leg and taking in the crumbling steps and dirty windows. Paint was peeling off the door and gathering on the floor in desolate little piles of faded white.

Race grimaced. “It wasn’t as bad back then but yeah, he did. After his mom died his father just kind of … stopped taking care of it, I guess.”

“That’s an understatement,” Spot muttered as he pushed his shoe against the edge of the first step. A piece broke off and cluttered to the ground.

Jack turned to Crutchie. “There’s no way you’re going up those stairs.”

Crutchie nodded. “Agreed.” His leg was already killing him. He had no interest in tempting fate by walking up ten steps that looked like they would fall apart if a butterfly landed on them.

Race took a deep breath. “Stay here,” he said. Carefully, he walked up to the front door, staying clear of the crumbling edges of the stony steps. It was rare for Race to be scared of anything but Crutchie could see him steeling himself before he knocked.

A harsh voice yelled from inside, “You’re really asking for a soaking, aren’t you, boy?” Just a second later the door was roughly pulled open and a man who looked older than he probably was stood in the doorway. His hair and beard were unkempt, his shirt and trousers stained. He was swaying on his feet, a bottle of liquor clenched tightly in one hand. No wonder Albert was scared of him, Crutchie thought, involuntarily taking a step backwards. Albert’s father had an angry look in his eyes that reminded him uncomfortably of Snyder. He knew Jack saw it, too, because he reached for Crutchie’s hand and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze before he whispered, “It’s okay. It’s not him.”

Crutchie nodded but his heart was still racing a mile a minute.

“Good morning, Mr. DaSilva,” Race greeted Albert’s father with a forced smile filled with false bravado.

“You!” Mr. DaSilva hissed. Race shrank before him. “Did you put my good-for-nothing son up to this? Thinks he can come running home after turning his back on me all those years ago. The nerve of that boy!”

Race swallowed hard. “So I take it Albert’s not here?”

Mr. DaSilva snorted derisively. “No, and he better not come back again.” He jabbed his finger at Race’s chest and out of the corner of his eyes Crutchie could see Spot tense up, ready to intervene should Albert’s father try to hurt him. “You tell him he shows his face here again a little tumble down the stairs will be the least of his problems. You got that?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Race stammered and the door was shut in his face. He blinked, breathing heavily, before he hurried back down the crumbling steps as fast as he could. He looked shaken.

“Did that bastard just say he pushed Albert down the stairs?” Jack asked, barely able to contain his anger.

“Yeah,” Crutchie whispered. He looked up to the door, taking in the steepness of the stairs. “We really need to find Albert. He could be seriously hurt. Is there any place close by he could go to from here? Maybe an old friend’s house or something?”

Race shook his head. “No, there’s only the cemetery ...” His eyes widened. “The cemetery! Of course!”

Crutchie exchanged a confused look with Jack and Spot. “The cemetery?”

Race nodded enthusiastically. “Albert’s mom is buried there. He doesn’t go there often because it makes him sad, but it’s the only place around here that still holds any meaning to him.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Spot said. “Lead the way.”

The cemetery was almost as run-down as Albert’s old home had been. Everywhere Crutchie looked he saw fallen gravestones that hadn’t stood a chance against the tests of time. The lawns and walkways were grown over and it was hard to make out where one grave began and another ended. Race led them further into the maze of the dead, until gravestones turned into small stone slabs which then turned into simple wooden crosses.

“The poor are buried here,” he told them quietly as they passed rows after rows of crosses in various states of decay. “Albert’s family didn’t have the money to buy a proper stone.” He stopped so abruptly Crutchie almost walked right into him. “He’s here,” Race whispered. “Oh god, he’s here.”

In the distance Albert’s red hair stood out in all the rainy greens and grays of the cemetery. He was sitting on the damp ground, legs pulled up against his chest, looking small and miserable but mostly unhurt – at least as far as Crutchie could see. Race let out a relieved sob and started running. He didn’t look back.

“Let’s give them a moment,” Crutchie decided. He lowered himself carefully onto a wooden bench, happy that it didn’t fall apart underneath him since it didn’t look much better than Mr. DaSilva’s stairs. Jack joined him but Spot kept staring in the direction Race had run off to, an undecipherable look on his face. It wasn’t heartbreak, per se, Crutchie thought. More like quiet acceptance.

“You know,” Jack began, following Spot’s gaze, “to be honest I don’t fully understand what happened today.” Crutchie motioned for him to go on. “I get that Albert was upset because of the fight last night. What I don’t get is why Spot,” his eyes flicked up to him, uncertain, “would be jealous of Albert in the first place. I mean, yeah, Race and Albert are close, but they’re best friends so that’s kind of normal, right? You,” he pointed at Crutchie, “and I aren’t any different and Katherine’s never been jealous of you.”

Spot gave him an incredulous look as if he couldn’t believe Jack hadn’t figured it out already and Crutchie sighed. It was time to tell him the truth. He just hoped Albert would forgive him for spilling his secret. “Albert’s got a heartmark,” he explained quietly. “With Race’s name. I’ve known for a while, but Race only found out a few months ago.”

Jack blinked. “Albert’s got a what now?”

“A heartmark, Kelly,” Spot repeated in annoyance. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of them?”

“Of course I have!” Jack said rather indignantly. “It’s just … aren’t they very rare?”

“So?” Spot asked. “Doesn’t change the fact that Albert’s got one and practically worships the ground Race walks on.”

Despite his earlier promise that he was all right with ending his relationship with Race he still sounded bitter. Crutchie wasn’t surprised. You don’t just stop loving someone even if you both agree you’re better off without each other. Race and Spot still cared. They still loved. It was the reason why Spot helped them find Albert despite how much it must hurt him to watch their reunion now. The fact that he was here despite that made Crutchie respect Spot a little bit more than he already did. Gently, he reminded him, “Only from afar. Albert never wanted to come between you and Race.”

Spot deflated a little. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. This is … difficult.”

“I know,” Crutchie said softly.

Jack frowned, staring at Race and Albert in the distance. “I always thought Albert just hadn’t found the right person yet and that’s why he didn’t have a soulmark – you know, just like you, Crutchie.” He tensed suddenly, and when he turned his head to look at Crutchie his eyes were wide with shock. “Oh god,” he whispered. “Is that why you’ve known about his heartmark? Because you’re like him?”

Crutchie swallowed past the lump in his throat as panic threatened to overwhelm him. This was it, the moment he’d always dreaded and had been waiting for at the same time. He knew there was no turning back now and his heartmark began to ache with the first signs of grief, so much worse than any pain he’d ever felt in his leg. It knew just as well as he did that the time for dreaming was done, as Jack was so fond of saying. There would be no more nights on the rooftop, no more limbs tangled together in search of warmth and comfort, no more smiles shared across the room. There would be no more Jack and Crutchie, not like they were before, and with the words he whispered next Crutchie knew he’d seal his own fate.   

 “Yeah, Jack. I got one, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks again to all your lovely comments on the first chapter! It makes me so happy that this series is received so well and I love hearing what you think!
> 
> This chapter is for all of you who wanted more JackCrutchie. I hope you like it! The next and final chapter will be from Albert's pov and we'll finally see the morning from his perspective as well as his reunion with Race. I'll try to get it edited by next weekend but no promises.


	3. Albert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please heed the warnings as mentioned in the first chapter. In this chapter there's explicit swearing as well as graphic descriptions of threats and violence against minors.

**Chapter 3: Albert**

Albert shivered.

It wasn’t winter, not yet, but the nights and mornings were icy cold and in his mindless haste to leave the Lodging House he’d forgotten to grab his jacket. Going back inside, back into the bunkroom, _back to Race_ , was out of the question. Leaving once had been hard enough – the hardest thing he’d ever done. He knew he couldn’t make himself turn away from Race a second time, not willingly. He’d rather face the cold than that particular heartbreak again, so Albert cut his losses, wrapped his arms around himself in a sorry attempt to keep warm and marched on, farther and farther away from the place he called home and ever closer to an unknown future. His jacket was just one more item on a long list of things he’d just left behind.

Forever.

The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He’d hoped so much it would never have to come to this and yet here he was, walking through the empty streets of New York in the early morning when the sun wasn’t even out yet, away from everything he held dear. With every step he took his heartmark ached, painfully reminding him of the consequences of his actions, and the closer he got to Brooklyn the worse the pain became. Albert was no stranger to heartbreak but this was different; this was self-inflicted. He was willingly carving Race from his life, from his heart – an impossible thing to do, an awful thing to do, but one he felt needed to be done nevertheless, no matter how much it hurt. Because Race deserved all the happiness in the world and Spot was the embodiment of that. As long as Albert was around he would always stand between them, causing fight after fight until they’d barely remember what it felt like to love each other. Albert couldn’t do that to Race. He’d rather be in pain for the rest of his life than see that dull and defeated look in Race’s eyes just one more time.

It was the reason why he was standing in front of Brooklyn’s lodging house right now, tightly holding a letter for Spot in his hand. He needed to fix this. He needed to make this right for Race, and Spot was the key to that, Albert knew. He also knew the moment he’d place the letter the door to his old life would irreparably close behind him. He would never go home, never see his friends again. He’d be alone – utterly, devastatingly alone just like he’d been all those years ago when he’d lost his mother and stood at the circulation gate of The World for the first time, knowing no one and feeling more grief than he knew how to deal with.

The thought of being that scared little boy again was terrifying but Albert ignored his panicking heart and hurried up the steps to the door of Brooklyn’s lodging house instead. Before he could rethink his decision he pushed the letter under the door as fast and as far as he could. There, he’d done it, he thought numbly. He’d just given up everything to give Race another shot at happiness. All he could hope for now was that it would be enough, that Race and Spot would find their way back to each other with him out of the picture and remember how to be happy together.

Albert took a deep, shaky breath that did nothing to calm down his racing heart, turned around and walked back down the steps. He didn’t look back. The only way was forward now. He shivered at the thought, and not just because of the cold. Going forward for him meant going back. The only place in the whole world he could go to now was also the one place he’d promised himself years ago he’d never set foot in again. Race had been there when he’d made that promise and that made breaking it so much worse. He felt like he was disappointing Race, letting him down. Albert knew it shouldn’t matter, not when he would never see Race again and Race would never find out, hopefully – but it did.

Guilt churned in his stomach, mixing with fear and apprehension as Albert headed in the direction of his father’s house. His old home. He didn’t want to go back there. Everything in him screamed at him to turn around and walk away but he didn’t know where else to go. He was out of options. The few coins in his pocket weren’t enough for a train ticket to Boston to see his brothers and outside of his fellow newsies he had no friends to ask for shelter. The very idea of living on the streets, especially ones he wasn’t familiar with, and stealing to stay alive scared him even more than coming face to face with his father again. Snyder might be in jail now but the streets of New York had more than one Spider, some worse than others, and Albert would rather face the devil he knew than the one he didn’t.

That didn’t stop him from shaking like a leaf in the wind when his old childhood home came into view, though. The sight of the run-down house sent shivers down his spine and ghosts of bad memories crept up on him like phantom cats, claws and teeth bared and ready to attack.

Against his will he remembered –

– the sound of glass bottles smashing against walls.

– the smell of sour breath ghosting nauseatingly over his face.

– the feeling of painful fingers tightening on his arms, his shoulders, his neck.

– the sting of sharp slaps that left his ears ringing for hours.

– the pain of awful slurs that never failed to make him feel small and worthless.

Black spots appeared in front of Albert’s eyes. He knew he was breathing too shallow and too fast, way too fast, and needed to calm down or he would black out. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened, either. He still vividly remembered Race’s worried face after that one particular fight with the Delanceys years ago that hit a little too close to home. But he also remembered Race’s voice, soft and calming and so gentle Albert had instantly felt safe and grounded, so different from the memories Oscar’s cold hand around his neck had brought violently to the surface.

It was that same feeling of comfort and safety Albert held onto now as he leaned his head against the bricks of his father’s house and forced himself to breathe slowly in and out, just like Race had told him to back then. He didn’t know how long it took him to calm down. Time became meaningless as his whole world narrowed down to the feeling of air rushing into his lungs and leaving them again. His whole body was still trembling by the time his breathing was almost back to normal and he felt like himself enough to push away from the wall. The sun was coming up, hidden behind thick grey clouds, giving the street a washed-out, dreary twilight look.

Albert braced himself and once more faced the house that used to be his home. It seemed even more ominous now, and it saddened him that there was barely a trace of his mother’s loving touch left after so many years of neglect. All Albert saw was the despair and destruction of his father’s hand, and he wanted to run. He wanted to run as far away from this place as he could. He wanted to run straight into Race’s arms, wanted to be held and shielded from the memories of his past that refused to let him go.

Instead he took a tentative step forward. Then another and another, slowly climbing the stairs. They were as steep as he remembered – just more broken. More dangerous. Step by step he dragged his feet higher and higher up the stairs until he finally stood in front of the old familiar front door that had once been a brilliant white. His heart began to race wildly in his chest as he raised a shaking hand. In that moment the crippling fear of coming face to face with his father dulled even the pain of his heartmark. Briefly, he considered taking his chances on the streets, after all.

Then Albert knocked.

The sharp sound seemed as loud as an entire orchestra in the early morning air. It sounded like a death sentence and Albert felt like he’d just made a grave mistake. At first nothing happened, though, and Albert thought, _Maybe he’s not home_ , hoping against hope he’d get more time to prepare himself for what was to come.

But then the sound of heavy footsteps broke the silence, coming closer and closer to the door, and Albert felt himself panicking. His chest tightened in fear and his eyes began to sting. Hastily, he brushed away any sign of tears. He must not let his father see him crying. He must not look afraid. Showing weakness was not allowed in the DaSilva household and would be punished. He knew that batter than anyone.

But when the door suddenly opened and his father towered over him for the first time in years, Albert couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him. He felt young and helpless again, absolutely terrified, and he knew it showed. “S-sir?” he stuttered out.

His father narrowed his eyes and peered at him as if he was a nasty insect crawling through the dirt at his feet. “Well, if it isn’t the streetrat,” he sneered before taking a gulp out of the bottle in his hand. Albert swallowed hard against the rising feeling of nausea. “Still stuttering and squeaking like vermin, I see. What do you want?”

“I-I,” Albert began, only for his father to cut him off abruptly.

“Speak up, boy!”

Albert flinched. “I was w-wondering if I c-could stay here f-for a bit,” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the Albert who made fun of Wiesel and the Delancey brothers every morning, who fought Snyder and the cops, who helped take down Pulitzer during the strike. No, this was the Albert from years ago, the one he’d thought he’d left behind for good – a broken boy who knew more pain than any child ought to and wanted nothing more than to find his heartmate just so he would feel loved and safe again.

“Stay here?” His father laughed cruelly. “Why the hell would I let you stay here?”

“I have n-nowhere else to g-go,” Albert whispered in shame.

“And how is that my problem?” his father asked in a calm voice that set off all the warning bells in Albert’s head. He had always been more dangerous when he was quiet instead of screaming “If I recall correctly I never threw you out. You ran away. You _chose_ to leave.”

Albert bit his lip in a desperate attempt to keep his emotions under control. “P-please,” he begged as tears filled his eyes.

His father’s fist came out of nowhere and the force of the blow sent him reeling backwards. Desperately, Albert tried to cling to something, anything to stop his fall, but his hands only touched empty air. He landed at the bottom of the stairs with a sickening thud, his right foot bent painfully under his weight. Piercing pain shot through his body where he’d come into contact with the steps. He groaned, curling in on himself in a desperate attempt to try and breathe through the pain.

From above him, his father hissed out, “DaSilvas never beg. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Albert said, his breath hitching against his will. Everything just hurt so much, both inside and out. He wanted it to stop.

“Do you understand?” his father screamed at him once more.

Terror seized Albert and instinctively, he covered his ears. “Yes, s-sir!” he nearly sobbed, not daring to look up.

“You better remember that lesson, boy,” his father warned. “Now get up and get lost. I don’t ever want to see your ugly face here again or else ...”

He left the threat hanging and Albert knew if he didn’t get up now his father would come down the stairs with more pain close at his heels and that was the last thing he wanted right now. Slowly, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, blinking heavily against his tears. Above him the front door fell shut with a deafening sound that was like music to Albert’s ears.

He risked a glance up.

His father was gone.

Albert sighed in relief. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat or two, gathering what was left of his courage and strength before he rose unsteadily to his feet. He had to get away. His father was undoubtedly watching from the windows and would be after him if he didn’t get a move on, and he would be angrier than before. Albert knew he couldn’t handle another confrontation, not when he felt so terrified he could barely think straight, so he carefully put some weight onto his right foot in a first tentative step away from this place. The awful throbbing increased but his foot didn’t give out under him.

_Just a sprain_ , Albert thought, trying to calm himself down. _It’s just a sprain. I can work with that. It’ll be okay._

He limped away from the house that used to be his home as fast as he could, feeling his father’s watchful eyes bore into the back of his head until he rounded a corner. He was safe again, he thought in relief, before the realization hit him that he didn’t know where to go now. Abruptly, he stopped in his tracks. There was no one else he could turn to and he wasn’t prepared to spend all day and night out on the streets. He barely had any money left and didn’t even have a jacket to keep him warm, not to mention food and water to get him through the day.

“Oh god,” Albert whispered in horror as the bitter truth about his situation came crashing down on him. It was all too much and before he knew it he was kneeling on the ground and throwing up what little he had eaten the night before.

“Oh god, what do I do?” he choked out for no one to hear.

All he knew was that he couldn’t go back home, back to the Lodging House, no matter how much he wanted to. And he wanted to so badly. He wanted to see Crutchie’s smile again, Jack’s paint-stained hands and Button’s nimble fingers working on a scarf. He wanted to hear Mush laugh and Elmer giggle and Blink sigh in fond exasperation when Davey said another fancy word no one but him understood. But most of all he wanted to feel Race’s arms around him, holding him like he was loved, keeping him safe and telling him that everything would be all right.

Because for him home wasn’t just the Lodging House and his friends. Home, most of all, was Race – always had been since Albert lost his mother. It was Race’s face Albert saw when he closed his eyes and longed for comfort and reassurance. It was his smile and gentle touch he imagined when he felt down. And it was his voice he remembered when he couldn’t breathe.

He missed Race so fiercely and so suddenly the tears he’d held back earlier finally spilled over against his will. This time Albert didn’t try to stop them. His mark burned with heartbreak and he leaned his head against the wall in helpless acceptance, riding out the storm.

His sobs had barely turned into quiet hiccups when someone kicked him in the shins and growled, “Go beg somewhere else. We don’t want no folks like you around here.”

Albert knew when he wasn’t wanted. He knew that feeling well. With a wince he pulled himself not only up but also together and almost blindly stumbled through the streets. Somehow, his feet carried him down old familiar paths to the gate of the cemetery where his mother was buried. Muscle memory, Albert dimly recalled Davey calling it – when your feet remember where to go even if you don’t. He had no idea why he remembered the term but seeing the sign of the cemetery made him almost weep in relief. This was a safe place. He’d be welcome here and his mother wouldn’t judge him. She never had, neither in life nor in death.  

He limped down slippery wet overgrown paths and at one point nearly slipped with his bad foot, only catching himself on an old lamppost that hadn’t been lit in years. When he finally reached his mother’s grave, Albert sank down next to the simple wooden cross, not caring about the cold, wet ground beneath his knees. He stared at his mother’s name, her birthday and at the date she passed away. It had been such a long time ago, _years_ , and he hadn’t come by to see her nearly as often as he should have.

It was that regret that tipped him over the edge again. Quietly and without warning he broke.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he sobbed, hiding his face in his arms from her, from the world, from the harsh reality that was his life now. “I’m so sorry I never come here anymore. I promise I haven’t forgotten about you.”

It all poured out of him, then, and Albert didn’t know how to stop. He told his mother everything. He talked about Race, about Spot, about the fight that was his fault. He told her about all the pain, guilt and fear he felt, leaving himself completely bare. He wished he could have talked to Crutchie like this, letting it all out until every last secret was told and Albert had nothing more to hide. But he knew Crutchie had enough on his plate without Albert adding to it, no matter how much Crutchie insisted that Albert could always come to him. There was only so much heartbreak and sadness a person could take and Albert hadn’t wanted to burden Crutchie with more of his than he already had.

Still, he wished he’d at least taken the time this morning to write Crutchie a letter, too, if only to explain himself and thank him for being his friend. Crutchie deserved that much, and more.

Albert took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at his mother’s cross. The weathered letters of her name stared blankly back at him, offering no comfort, no advice and no way out of the hopeless situation he was in.

“I don’t know what to do, Mama,” he whispered before burying his face in his arms once more. “I screwed up.”

By then the cold had seeped into his bones so much Albert couldn’t feel his hands and feet anymore. The throbbing in his ankle persisted and pain pulsed with every beat of his heart. His heartmark was bleeding, a slow trickle of grief that froze against his skin. He was shivering and a part of him knew that he should get up, that he needed to move or he would risk getting too cold, but he had neither the energy nor the will to leave. He wasn’t ready to face his life yet. He just wanted to hide from everything a little longer.

Just a little longer, and maybe the pain would stop.

Suddenly, out of nowhere warmth – wonderful warmth! – engulfed him. A pair of arms drew him close against a warm chest and before Albert knew what was happening Race’s breath ghosted over his ear. “Thank god you’re all right.”

Relief rushed through Albert like a tidal wave even though he didn’t fully grasp what was going on. He just knew he wasn’t alone anymore, that Race was here, and he was holding him and talking to him in that beautiful voice Albert thought he’d never get to hear again. It felt like a dream, or a miracle – completely overwhelming and impossible. Helplessly, he whispered, “Tonio.”

“I’m right here, Al,” Race assured him and Albert felt his hands against the bare skin of his arms, leaving patches of warmth behind wherever they touched. In that moment it didn’t matter that Race wasn’t supposed to be at the cemetery, wasn’t supposed to come after him and find him at all. The only thing that mattered, the only thing Albert could focus on, was that Race was _here_ and he was no longer lost. He was _home_.

For the first time in hours his heartmark stopped hurting. It was such a relief that Albert closed his eyes and let himself lean into Race’s touch, relishing in the warmth and comfort it brought. But only for a moment, only until it hit him what the lack of pain meant, what he was allowing to happen here against his better judgment and what it could do to Race and Spot. Guilt pooled in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, and it felt inadequate. There were so many things he needed to apologize for: running away; not being brave enough to say goodbye in person; worrying Race; allowing himself to be found; not being strong enough to push Race away right now. The list was endless and he didn’t know where to begin.

Luckily Race seemed to know what he couldn’t say because he tightened his arms around Albert and whispered, “I know, and I’m sorry, too.”

Before Albert could ask what Race could possibly be sorry for Race pulled back a little so he could look at him. His face was wet with tears and his hand was shaking when he reached up to brush some damp strands of Albert’s hair out of his face. With a gentleness that made Albert feel fragile and cherished at the same time Race’s fingertips moved over the bruise that was forming around his left eye.

“Your father did that,” Race said. It was a hollow statement, not a question. Albert wondered how Race knew that. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Albert hesitated. “I fell down the stairs.”

Race pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head. “You didn’t _fall_ ,” he said with barely concealed anger. “That bastard pushed you.” His eyes moved over every inch of Albert’s body. They widened when they landed on the blood on his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

Albert followed his gaze, feeling dazed. “It’s just the heartmark,” he whispered. Their eyes met and Race looked so shocked that Albert felt the need to add, “It’s okay. It … It’s stopped now.”

The shock bled out of Race’s expression only to leave a deep sadness behind that almost physically pained Albert. Race took a shuddering breath and when he placed a warm hand against the unhurt side of Albert’s face Albert couldn’t help but close his eyes. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

Albert told him about the sprained ankle and the bruises from the fall. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said quietly as if that made it all right. They both knew it didn’t.

“I hate that you thought you had to go back there,” Race muttered. He leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, his hands a grounding presence on the back of Albert’s neck – so unlike his father’s touch. “I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible and frightening that must have been for you.”

Albert shivered, remembering the panic and shame he felt all too vividly. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted in a broken voice.

Race let out a sob that tore at Albert’s heart. “ _Home_ , Al. You could have just come home.”

Albert shook his head. “I didn’t want to ruin your life any more than I already had,” he said, unable to meet Race’s eyes.

“But you’re a part of my life, Al,” Race choked out. “You’re important to me. You _matter_. God, I wish you’d see that.”

Albert blinked against the tears that burned his eyes. “But you and Spot –“

“This is not about me and Spot,” Race said. One of his hands trailed down Albert’s arm until it found his hand. He intertwined their fingers and warmth spread though Albert like a wildfire. “It’s about you and me. It’s about you blaming yourself for things that are out of your control and not your fault. It’s about me telling you not often enough what you mean to me.” He swallowed. “It’s about me not telling you how much I love you.”

“Tonio,” Albert whispered, feeling numb. His whole life he had been waiting to hear these words. He’d imagined countless scenarios in his darkest, most desperate moments, but nothing could have prepared him for the shock and surprise he felt now.

“It’s true,” Race said, shrugging almost helplessly in self-conscious way. “I love you,” he repeated and to his astonishment Albert saw tears well in his eyes. “And it kills me that it’s not enough, that I’m not who you need me to be, because I want you to be happy, too, Al. Every day I wish I loved you like you deserve to be loved, and … and I don’t know if I ever will but I promise you I already love you in every other possible way. You mean the world to me and I … I can’t lose you. I just can’t,” he finished brokenly.

Despite the tears on his cheeks Albert’s lips pulled up in a smile. He’d never realized how much he needed Race to say this until now, to put into words how he felt about him. Race might not be in love with him and probably never would be – and that was all right, he’d made his peace with that a long time ago – but for the first time since he’d met him Albert truly understood that that didn’t have to mean Race didn’t love him at all. It was just a different kind of love, and it was reserved for Albert alone, no matter what name the letters on Race’s arm spelled. It was special in its own way and it made his heart soar – not in hope but in contentment. After years of longing and heartbreak he felt like he found his place in the world.

_No, not in the world_ , Albert thought, _in Race’s life_.

“Thank you,” hewhispered softly.

Race choked out a confused laugh. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. “For what?”

“For being my heartmate,” Albert said simply and Race’s face crumbled. Albert gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “And for being my best friend. I never wanted you to be more than you are, Race. I just … felt like I was standing in the way of your happiness.”

“You’re not,” Race insisted. The honesty in his eyes took Albert’s breath away. “You’re part of my happiness. A huge part, Al. I could never be happy without you in my life.”

The words felt like balm on Albert’s weary heart. “Me, neither,” he said. He met Race’s eyes. “What we have – it’s good, isn’t it?”

Race nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’d like to think so.”

“Then please don’t feel guilty because it isn’t more,” Albert said gently. “If I’m not allowed to blame myself for things I can’t control then neither are you.”

“Using my own words against me, huh?” Race said. His eyes, still wet, danced with faint amusement. “Low blow, Al.” More serious, he added, “But – I hear you.”

“Good,” Albert smiled faintly before he took a deep breath and finally said the words he’d been longing to say to Race since the day he met him. “And I … I know you already know this but – I love you, too, Tonio. With all my heart.”

Nervously, he glanced up at Race, not sure how he would react, but when Race smiled back at him and squeezed his hand in quiet reassurance all uncertainties vanished and only happiness remained. The feeling was so intoxicating Albert felt almost giddy with it. It was freeing to be able to put his feelings into words for the first time in his life and it felt even better to know that he no longer had to be afraid the depth of his love for Race would make him uncomfortable, or worse: turn around and run away.

Gently, Race gave his hand another squeeze. “Does this mean you’ll come home with me?”

Albert nodded. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Oh, thank god,” Race breathed in relief, pulling Albert in for another hug. “For a moment there I thought I’d have to drag your stubborn ass back by force.”

Albert snorted because it was such a Race thing to say. It was a step back to normal, this banter between them. It felt good and just so _them_ that Albert wondered how he could have ever thought he’d be able to live without it. Burying his cold nose against the warm skin of Race’s neck, he said, “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Spot would have helped,” Race muttered defiantly.

Albert tensed and pulled back. “Spot is here?”

Race nodded, pointing over Albert’s shoulder at the little hill with the little wooden bench. “Jack and Crutchie, too. They were all worried about you.” He smiled faintly but it faded when he took a deep breath. Albert braced himself for whatever he was about to say. “Spot and I broke up, this morning. And before you say anything – no, it wasn’t because of you. I made that decision before I even realized you were gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Albert whispered, not knowing what else to say. He tried not to feel guilty, just like they’d promised each other, but he couldn’t help the sadness that washed over him when he heard that.

Race, however, smiled at him once more. “I know you are. I am, too, but I know it’s the right thing to do. Do you want to know why?” he asked, taking hold of one of Albert’s hands again. Albert nodded mutely. “Because I’m more relieved than sad that it’s over. All that fighting … it wasn’t good for either of us. I think we were both tired of hurting each other.” He paused and his eyes shifted briefly to Spot’s figure in the distance. “We want to try to be friends.”

Albert searched Race’s face for any sign that he was lying or hiding something from him and found none. “Are you happy?” he asked quietly.

Race’s eyes met his and there was a spark in them Albert hadn’t even realized had been missing for some time. “I am, Al,” he said softly. “Promise.” Then, with a wry grin he added, “Though I’d be even happier if we got you home and under a pile of blankets as soon as possible. Preferably now. Your lips are turning blue.”

“You saying half-frozen is not a good look on me?” Albert joked but only half-heartedly. Now that Race mentioned it he began to feel the effects of sitting on the cold, damp ground on a dreary autumn morning for a prolonged period of time in full force. He shivered.

“Half-frozen is not a good look on anyone, Al,” Race pointed out. He shrugged out of his jacket and wordlessly held it out to Albert.

“What are you doing?” Albert asked. “Put your jacket back on!”

Race gave him a look of fond exasperation. “You need it more than I do. Just … take it, Al. Please. Humor me.”

Reluctantly, Albert agreed but only because there was a hint of desperation in Race’s voice that tore at his heart. Carefully and with Race’s help, he slipped his arms through the sleeves. The movement aggravated his bruises but the warmth of Race’s residual body heat made more than up for that.

“Better, isn’t it?” Race asked softly with just a hint of smugness in his voice. Albert nodded. It was. Even better was the way Race smiled at him as he held out his hand to pull Albert onto his feet. “Let’s go home so we can get you warmed up, hm?”

Albert thought about the warm oven in the common room, about the comfortable mattress of his bunk and the woolen blanket he liked to curl up under. He thought about his friends, their warm smiles and laughter. But most of all he thought about Race who could make Albert’s heart light up with nothing more than his ridiculously blue eyes and endearing grin. “Home sounds good,” he agreed.

In truth it sounded better than good. It sounded like Heaven.

Race wrapped an arm around him to help him walk but stopped in front of the grave. “Thanks for watching over him, Mama DaSilva,” he said quietly, and Albert looked at him in surprise. “I promise I’ll take good care of him now. We’ll be back to see you soon.”

Race’s eyes met his and Albert gave him a small, grateful nod, hoping Race understood what he couldn’t put into words at this moment.

Like always, Race did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the final chapter of this story! It took me ages to edit it because Albert and Race's talk in the end didn't feel quite right but I'm kind of satisfied now with the way it turned out. Or at least I'm sure it won't get any better than this XD 
> 
> Just a little heads-up regarding the next story in this verse: I have a rough idea in which direction it will go (the focus will be more on JackCrutchie than Ralbert) but I haven't started writing it yet. Since I like to have rough first draft of a story completely finished before I begin editing and publishing it, it will take some time until the sequel will be up. I'm also (finally!) starting a new job in two weeks so my time for writing will be limited after that. I hope you'll understand and I promise to make the wait for the sequel as short as possible!
> 
> And finally, I want to thank all you guys again for your amazing support! It really means the world to me when I get feedback and I really, really appreciate that you take the time to leave me a comment or kudos!


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